Our Journey
by Cookie Mayhem
Summary: My interpretation of the lore of the game 'Journey' in the form of a meaningful short story. I cry every time, you know. ;-;


I am of the Red Cloth.

This tall world of nature, monuments and magic.

This is my home.

My ancestors came down from the sky, the skies that were void of starlight for the time they were absent. They grew, they prospered, they died with each other's hands on their throats.

My ancestors paid many a sin to this world. This world in which the monsters they created for the purpose of war roam around the higher reaches.

This world in which is so small yet so large, so empty of life yet full of colour. It is the fault of my ancestors.

They slew the Red Cloth people, and every other sentience that this tall world held in their desperation for self-preservation and resources.

It makes me sad.

It made Nature sad too.

Nature took pity on their corruption, accepting their spirits into her loving arms, returning them to the darkened skies they should never had left.

But no sin comes without a price.

Few were chosen, sent to be reborn into this barren, tall world. Sent to wander back to the light of Nature, to be reborn again in a continuous, endless cycle until they fulfil enlightenment in the form of the White Cloth beings—the embodiment of the peace of mind they had before they were summoned to the world.

Now it is my turn.

I am in this tall world. This tall world of nature, monuments and magic.

Like my ancestors before me that have ventured on this Journey, I have been reborn as the Red Cloth, the very species we slew in bloodlust.

I toil through this tall world of nature, monuments and magic.

In the form of this red cloth scarf, I collect the experiences of those whose Journeys are now past, the experiences and nature of my ancestors who strived before me. They help me learn and help me to reach up and grasp Mother Nature's light once more.

On my way, I met a companion. I am forbidden to share words. Instead we sing, obscuring and blurring our identities and seeing familiar faces that belong to the new.

On our travels, we find ruins and hear the tales that our ancestors left for us. We learn more about the history of this tall world of nature, monuments and magic from the White Cloths, those who want to help us understand what we did wrong in our past lives.

The sins that we committed against Mother Nature.

And this tall world of nature, monuments and magic.

Ever do we draw closer, trudging through the guilt and leaving behind a trail of new experiences for our next lives to gather.

Slowly, we paint the world in our new vision with olden memories.

From the sands we began, to a mysterious darkness filled with light. Yet again do we awaken the monsters of war, those who want to feed off our experiences and raze this world of nature, monuments and magic that is only now regenerating.

We sing a melancholy harmony as our past is painted in the cryptic words of the White Cloths, and our path lit by the lanterns of knowledge.

From the luminous light we find ourselves within the snow, where the monsters slither through the air like a looming thundercloud heavy with the tears of the sky.

The wind is harsh here, so warm yet so cold.

Together, we trudge up the slope of hardship, seeking the warmth of the skies we yearn to return to.

The wind is harsh here, so cold yet warm.

We're close now. I can feel it. My courage is waning, my patience is wearing thin.

The wind is harsh here, so cold.

The very thought of Nature enveloping me is the only drive I have. Our experiences, our past choices and lives are dissipating in the northern winds like foam on the water.

It is the same ambition as the myself of the past. The familiar and unsavoury desperation for the gift of life that one cannot obtain by power alone…

The wind is cold.

So cold…

 _So… cold…_

 _…cold…._

 _…c…ol…d…_

 _…c…c…c…o…l…d…d…_

 _This inflow of life…_

 _It revives us._

 _Frees us from the chains of darkness._

 _Tugging at the shadows within…_

 _Nature is taking pity on us again._

 _We were fools to disrespect her._

 _Such idiocy cannot be forgiven._

 _I know my purpose now and for what seems to be the umpteenth time._

 _My mind is not yet clear of the sins I have done._

 _I grasp the hand of my companion._

 _And together, we fly.  
We fly through the serenity that once was._

 _And at the end, we rest._

 _We reach out._

 _And we find Mother waiting for us again._

 ** _This is our Journey._**


End file.
